The ‘rents made a house call this weekend. I don’t get to see them often, and for once we spent more time getting along than fighting. Of course there were touch and go moments when the topics of marriage, home buying, and employment were discussed. I guess that’s to be expected though. All three subjects are rife with expectation and disappointment.
Things I learned during their visit:
I’m definitely my mother’s daughter. I am a shopaholic. For the first time I could actually keep pace with her and not just stand idly with one dinky item. I added a slew of new t-shirts to my burgeoning collection. My mom also bought me my birthday presents a little early this year! She outfitted me head to toe in Banana Republic. I’m going to be so smug in my chino blazer, tank top, ice blue cardigan, and cargo shorts. Full retail will do that to you…
I’m also my father’s daughter. I think with my stomach. While we were ordering breakfast my dad would ask what we were having for dinner. It really does make a difference to people like us. You wouldn’t want to order steak and eggs for breakfast if you were going to a steakhouse for dinner, right! I picked thoughtful foods and I could tell he appreciated it. He even ordered chocolate cake for dessert, even though he claims he doesn’t like chocolate…
I am lucky. Even though we bicker, get our messages crossed, and can’t decipher each others’ meaning, I still have pretty cool parents. It’s nice being a daughter a few weekends a year; it beats being an office wench, that’s for sure.
Currently playing: Tori Amos, Sleeps With Butterflies
i miss my folks. sometimes i put socks on my hands and pretend they’re my family and have loving, touching conversations that completely validate where i am in life. then jeremy walks in and i have to pretend that i was…um…dusting or something…yeah.